Wedding Day
by Mountain King
Summary: An unremarkable, average day proves to be the end of the world. Two weeks later a lone survivor tries to understand just what happened


Wedding Day

Authors note:-  
>This came about after flicking through TV channels on one of my few relaxing days and seeing what was clearly supposed to be "Royal Wedding" spoof on one of those cardboard cut out Teen drama shows.<p>

The ones with the same three plots recycled again and again, "actors" chosen because they look good on the cover of magazines and manufactured angst simply included so that a cast member could speak the infamous 'OH no, you did-n't!' wanted for the trailer.

Watching in abject horror for all of a minute I wondered how would I improve it, other than to napalm the writes room. The answer is quite simple really; Inject some real horror into the damn show. Naturally my brain went here.

Full disclaimer at the end.

* * *

><p>In the dark reaches of space a primitive computer tumbled endlessly. Falling forever as it orbited a small, unimportant blue marble of a world. Far down below the plants had long ago reclaimed the world, all higher forms of life long gone.<p>

The satellite, one of the last pieces of evidence there ever was a people down there flickered away on it's endless, empty task. Awaiting a command that would never come, to play the last message of the people far below:-

* * *

><p>The camera comes on, at first showing nothing but darkness. Quickly a single powerful light snaps on showing a hasty barricade to one side and a plain worn chair closer to the middle. A man staggerers into shot, his hands shaking and clothes filthy. He sits down like a man who's lost everything and hasn't the strength to carry on anymore. He looks into the camera as it struggles to focus. His eyes are bloodshot, dark bags under them. Sores are beginning to brake out on his unwashed face and there are patches of stubble interspersed with shallow careless shaving cuts. 'Is there anybody out there?' he asks, his voice horse, on the edge of tears.<p>

'Is there any-body out there.' he repeats, almost in a sing song voice. A song half remembered from a happier, healthier, time. Suddenly sobering he looks imploringly into the camera. 'Please, please if there is don't be silent. I… I can't. Not anymore.' There is a feverish light in his eyes, the sign of a horror lived with so long it is like a comfortable old coat. 'It's been… my god, two weeks. It can't, not two weeks.' His expression grows distant, the shadow of his past haunting him.

The hollow booming of someone, something, knocking on the door.

'They know I'm here, I won't survive much longer. Now's as good a time as any.' Desperate, alone and afraid he glances to the barricade. 'It all happened so fast, and so slowly. You think the end of the world would happen just like that. A warning and then bang. There wasn't a warning and it took days. Days.'

Words come tumbling out and the banging becomes louder and louder, as if more and more were suddenly there. 'It was some celebrity wedding, I don't know. Probably someone famous for one of those talent shows or something. Five of them, it only took five and now look where we are.

'At first it was just an unexplained attack, terrorists, publicity stunt, jealous rival who knew, but there were pictures. That was their plan you see, the pictures. Those harmless photos of stone statues. They got everywhere. Twitter, Facebook, YouTube. Everywhere. Then the news channels picked it up. Twenty four hour television, every hour. Those same damn pictures.'

The feverish light burnt in his eyes, he was beginning to spit and it was obvious he just didn't care. 'It sounded crazy right, I know, but I was there. I saw it happen right in front of me. Janet, my god Janet. She was just looking at the picture and… and…' he brakes down. Not for the first time, but for the last. 'She heard them. In her head. That's how they do it, make more of themselves. They crawl in through your eyes and hollow you out!

'That was their plan don't you see, mass media, mass distribution! We built it, we built the tools they used to kill us!' He was ranting now, his voice almost enough to cover the banging on the door and the splintering of wood.

'Who knows how many there are now Millions, Billions? Am I the last one, going down with a sinking ship and desperately clinging to the tools of our own destruction?' The splintering of wood gets louder and louder, cracking like dry branches under foot.

'That was when we found out they could move. Not when you saw them, no never when you saw them, but when you looked away. That was when they moved. That was when the Angles came for you. When you least expect it poof you're gone.' Behind him the barricade splintered with a final crash like thunder.

Opening his coat the man revealed packs of explosives. 'But they won't get me. they won't. They won't…'

* * *

><p>High above the satellite spun lazily on it's way as far below the planet was silent, with only the grass, the trees and the statues to watch over it.<p>

* * *

><p>Disclaimer<br>I don't own Doctor Who or the Weeping Angels. They belong to the BBC and Steven Moffat respectively. I'm just trying to scar the minds of impressionable young people…

Thomas  
>AKA Mountain King<p> 


End file.
